


We deal in fantasy

by twentyfourblackbirds



Category: Dollhouse, Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dollhouse, BAMF Eggsy, Crossover, Eggsy as Active Foxtrot, Identity, M/M, Rentboy Eggsy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 18:11:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,102
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3579027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twentyfourblackbirds/pseuds/twentyfourblackbirds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Of Foxtrot’s nineteen imprints, Harry’s favourites were, by far, Galahad and Eggsy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We deal in fantasy

Of Foxtrot’s nineteen imprints, five were hired muscle, one was a demolitions specialist, one was a blackhat hacker, two were assassins, and the remaining ten were companions, with varying degrees of companionship.

Of Foxtrot’s nineteen imprints, Harry’s favourites were, by far, Galahad and Eggsy.

 

\----

 

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck yes, fuck me ’Arry,” Eggsy moaned incoherently into a pillow.

“Your mouth is filthy,” Harry panted between thrusts. “Everything about you is filthy… and I… fucking… love it.”

He leaned forward, left hand snaking around to pump Eggsy’s shaft. Eggsy shouted a new string of expletives and bucked wildly in his hand.

“You dirty fucking harlot,” Harry said hoarsely. “Tell me you want this. Beg for it, you tramp.”

“Shit, Harry, don’t stop, you feel so good, I need you, please,” Eggsy begged with abandon and without a trace of shame. “Shit buggering Christ yes yes _yes_ fuck yes god-”

Harry was distantly aware that Eggsy’s cock was twitching and spurting in his palm, but everything was becoming secondary to the growing roar in his ears as he came slamming into Eggsy’s arse one last time.

 

\----

 

Where he met Eggsy varied - sometimes it was over the phone, sometimes it was at a bar, more commonly it was on the side of the road. How he met Eggsy never changed.

Eggsy flashed Harry a well-crafted look of interest, letting his gaze linger. “Wot’s a fit gen’leman like you doin’ in this part of town, eh?” He leaned into Harry’s personal space with a disarming smile.

Harry eyed Eggsy just as pointedly. “Let’s dispense with the sales pitch. How much,” he asked, knowing that his brash directness was a turn-on for the boy, “for one night?”

Eggsy’s grin broadened. “Ah. A man after me own heart. Normally it’s five hundred pounds, but for a looker like you? Why, I’ll drop it to four fifty.”

Harry smiled back like a shark. “As nice as I’m sure it is, it’s not your heart I’m after tonight.”

 

\----

 

“Holy hell, Harry, I ain’t never been fucked like that before,” Eggsy collapsed next to him, all shaking joints and slick flesh. Harry, exhausted, could only murmur something nonsensical as he kissed the sweat from Eggsy’s brow.

“You feel diff’rent from other people,” Eggsy continued shyly. “I don’t wanna charge you for tonight. An’... I think I’d really like it if we met up again. Sometime.”

Harry smiled gently back. “That sounds lovely, Eggsy. Would you like a treatment?”

Eggsy’s jaw slackened almost imperceptibly, his eyes sliding into blankness. “Yes. I like my treatments.”

Gripping his elbow tightly, Harry helped Foxtrot to his feet.

 

\----

 

Galahad - now, Galahad was a different kind of pleasure entirely.

Currently he was shaking his head, slowly enough, of course, not to disarray his perfectly parted hair. A manicured finger tapped the table in gentle admonition.

“I’m terribly afraid the statistics simply cannot agree with you in this regard, my lady Roxanne,” his voice was smooth and burning, like the finest of bourbons. Across from him, his verbal sparring partner raised a shapely eyebrow.

“But surely the statistics show that this is the first time in history in which the world economy has grown while carbon emissions have not,” she rejoined with a lazy smile.

“Indeed. That fact, I do not dispute. However, I am sorry to say that you are making a very common mistake. Carbon emissions is not the same as carbon concentration, and carbon concentration is still steadily rising.” Galahad paused to take a sip from his wineglass, and flashed a short smile. “It is like the difference between acceleration and velocity. We have stopped accelerating towards a sheer cliff, but unless we decelerate, our velocity will continue to take us to our deaths.”

Harry, thus far, had been merely listening, partially entranced by this intellectual debate, and partially captivated by how eminently fuckable Galahad looked in his bespoke suit and Oxfords.

Now, however, he cleared his throat discreetly. “Such morbid imagery is not entirely suitable for this delicate of company,” he murmured, tapping his wristwatch twice.

Abashed, a light flush rose in Galahad’s cheeks. “My apologies,” he said stiffly. “I lost my sense of decorum in the heat of the argument. Please excuse me for a moment while I re-gather myself.” He stood up in one graceful motion, and headed upstairs towards the men’s room.

Harry turned towards Roxanne, who waved him off in advance. “Oh, don’t start apologizing as well, Harry,” she implored. “You insult me more by passing me off as some sort of fainting damsel. Do you really think the daughter of Nestle’s CEO loses any sleep at night?”

Harry laughed. “Well then, allow me to make amends with a dance, instead,” he offered his arm. Blushing prettily, Roxanne accepted it.

“Get ready,” he subvocalized as they walked away.

“Acknowledged,” came Galahad’s voice crisply across the comms.

The waltz began as Harry smoothly lead Roxanne across the ballroom floor. In his ear, he was alerted by a sound of frustration.

“I can’t get a clean angle,” Galahad bit out.

“Take the shot anyway,” Harry hissed.

“I’m not bloody well going to risk shooting you too, Arthur!”

“Galahad, I _order_ you to fire.”

“Pardon?” inquired Roxanne.

“I said, you’re on fire tonight, my dear,” Harry smiled affectionately.

“Why, how very sweet of you.”

A few tense seconds passed. As the pair whirled closer to the band, he leaned past Roxanne’s neck, turned away from her, and whispered urgently. “Galahad, listen to me: _you have to be your best_.”

He heard a fiercely indrawn breath.

And then Roxanne was screaming shrilly and blood was spurting all over his suit and Harry was sprinting and crashing through the double oak doors, aware of footsteps catching up from behind.

He turned his head slightly and laughed, a strangled sound containing equal parts relief, adrenaline, and lust. “Bloody well done, Galahad. I’m so proud of you.”

 

\----

 

Someone was looking down kindly at Foxtrot. For some strange reason, they were in a ballroom gown with blood all over it. For an even stranger reason, he still knew that he trusted this person with his life.

“Did I fall asleep?” he asked.

“For a little while,” she said.

“Shall I go now?”

“If you like.”

Foxtrot wandered dreamily out of the room. In the shadows, Harry forced himself not to watch as he left. Brushing half-heartedly at the red dye on his suit, he nodded curtly at the doll’s handler.

“Thank you, as always, for your discretion, Roxy.”

Roxy smiled, and Harry tried to persuade himself that her expression held only professionalism, not pity.

“Always a pleasure, Director.”

 


End file.
